


Nepeta Cataria

by thepopeisdope



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cat Dean, Cats, Familiar Dean, M/M, Witch Castiel, so many cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepopeisdope/pseuds/thepopeisdope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel plants catnip to prevent mosquitoes and accidentally lures in a bunch of cats.</p><p>And Dean.</p><p>(Available in <a href="https://ficbook.net/readfic/5802134">Russian</a> and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/13494568%22">Chinese</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nepeta Cataria

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/pics/comments/4fy4h8/lets_plant_catnip_it_prevents_mosquitoes/) amazing post. I had to. I'm not sorry.
> 
> Beta'd by the [beta queen](http://willowywings.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  
> 
> Now available in a Russian translation [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5802134), courtesy of the wonderful Shiorino, and also in a Chinese translation [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13494568) thanks to skysmelody! (You guys are so wonderful. <3)

Castiel swats at the mosquito buzzing near his ear, breaking his concentration from the herbs he’s currently grinding beneath with his pestle. It's the eighth one he's had to deter in as many minutes. At this rate, he'll never finish prepping these herbs in time to add them to the potion he's brewing.

And he _really_ needs to finish this potion. He's already botched it once while attempting to fill Mrs. Moseley's order, he would rather not do it again.

His neighbor has a pond in her backyard, and she refuses to take care of it in any fashion. As a result, it spends most of the year as a breeding ground for mosquitoes and other filth. Normally, Castiel would let such a thing slide—nature is nature, and while Castiel is gifted with the ability to wield some of its power, he has no say in how it chooses to behave.

But this?

This is personal.

His neighbor _knows_ he doesn’t like the mosquitoes. She knows that he finds them irritating, and that they have been known to fester and breed in his own yard as a result of her pond. And what does she say when he asks her to clean it?

"Gotta have some reason to keep you coming over here, though, don't I?” And usually she adds, “You’re cute when you’re all riled up.”

If Castiel were a lesser witch, he might have hexed her then and there, the first time he heard it. Or any time after, for that matter.

But he's _not_ a lesser witch. He didn't come to have the reputation he has by hexing (mostly) innocent mortal women. He did that by establishing himself as well-tempered and reliable to the members of his community, both the magic one and the one of Pontiac, Illinois, where his livelihood is based. The magic shop that he owns near downtown wouldn’t be nearly as successful as it is if this were not the case.

His business won’t be successful at _all_ if the owner can’t get any damn work done, though.

This mosquito nonsense won’t stand.

Castiel sets aside his pestle and mortar and stomps across his yard into his house. If his neighbor won’t deal with the insects—fine. So be it. But that doesn’t mean Castiel has to be passive and allow them to enter his space without restriction. He can deter them, in one way or another.

He boots up his laptop—something he mostly has for his business, and so is not nearly as deft at using as he would like—and after only a few minutes of searching, he finds the solution he’s looking for.

 _Plants that naturally repel mosquitoes_.

He feels his magic flare within him with the strength of the joy the list brings. He already has a few of the noted plants in his greenhouse, and many of the others he keeps a supply of at his store. He can transpose some of the ones from his greenhouse to the yard, and make a trip to the shop to get a few of the ones there—

Yes. He can see it now. With a bit of aid from his powers, he can encourage the plants to take root and grow strong. His set up should be perfect within a matter of hours, and with a bit of luck, the mosquitoes will leave him alone.

He returns to his greenhouse to finish his potion before getting to work, smiling smugly to himself. Apparently he’ll be even more productive this evening than he originally anticipated.

~

Castiel doesn’t realize his mistake until the following morning. He steps out his backdoor, grimoire tucked snugly beneath his arm as he heads toward his greenhouse, then immediately stumbles to a halt.

There are cats. In his yard. A lot of them.

“Oh, gods,” he breathes, heart sinking under the weight of his mistake.

In retrospect, when planting his anti-mosquito plants, he may have gone a bit above and beyond. Of the eleven plants listed on the site, he went with ten: citronella, lemon balm, marigolds, basil, lavender, peppermint, pennyroyal, rosemary, geraniums…

And catnip.

Catnip repels mosquitoes, sure, but it’s also _catnip_. Of _course_ it’s going to attract cats. How did he not realize? Judging by the sheer number of felines currently lounging in the grass all around his freshly-planted bushes, he must have lured in half of the neighborhood’s population.

Half the neighborhood’s population, and yet he has still accumulated close to two dozen cats.

Castiel huffs, then turns and goes right back into his house. He likes cats, sure—he prefers them to nearly every other animal, in fact—but they can’t stay. They’ll only distract him from his work, more than the mosquitoes ever had. He also hopes that ushering them away will help ease the nugget of guilt that’s making itself at home in his chest.

These poor cats. Lured into his yard and now stoned out of their minds, all because he couldn’t handle a few mosquitoes. He feels guilty for unintentionally manipulating them, and he feels bad for now having to now shoo them away with his kitchen broom.

“Go on,” he urges, nudging at the first clump of cats with the bristles. One of the cats rolls from its right side to his left, and stares up at him with glazed-over eyes. “Come on, kitty cats, _shoo_. Go back to your homes now, please.”

A few of the cats meow lazily. Castiel gets the distinct feeling they're laughing at him.

His neighbor’s face suddenly pops up over the fence between their yards, the worst timing imaginable, and her grin stretches wide when she takes in Castiel’s predicament. “Starting a petting zoo, Clarence?” she teases with a laugh. Her voice grates on Castiel’s ears. “You know, I always have liked cats. If you’re trying to woo me, it’s an interesting tactic, but hey—color me intrigued.”

Castiel grits his teeth, and continues trying to brush away his new feline friends with his broom. They’re resistant to the action, too lethargic to move, and after a few more useless prods, he growls and gives up. He glares at his neighbor, channeling his frustration into her instead of the cats. “I’m not trying to _woo you_ , Meg. We’ve been over this, I’m not interested. Please leave now.”

Meg pouts, and mumbles what sounds to Castiel an awful lot like, “I’ll get in those pants one day, Clarence.” He rolls his eyes. Thankfully, though, she drops back down behind the fence and out of sight. He hears her backdoor close a moment later, signaling that she’s truly gone.

He breathes a sigh of relief. That’s one problem dealt with. Now to figure out the other one.

“You can’t stay here,” he announces to the horde at large, propping his hands on his hips. He gets a few lazy stares for his efforts. Apparently all of the neighborhood cats are prone to lethargic highs, not energetic ones. Figures. He drums his fingers against the handle of the broom for a moment—a useless tool, apparently—then adds, "I will resort to drastic measures if I have to."

Unsurprisingly, that doesn't get him a response, either.

"Fine," he grumbles, turning on his heel to stalk back toward his house. He slams the broom down beside the door when he heads inside, and tosses his grimoire onto his kitchen table. Its contents are centered on nature, which is why it had been accompanying him to the greenhouse, so he knows it will contain necessary information for the spell he needs.

He finds what he's looking for with ease, and luckily, he won't even have to make a trip to his shop to obtain the proper ingredients. He doesn’t have to go out to his greenhouse, even. Everything he needs is simple, and commonplace enough to already be kept in his home. He gathers it all together then binds it in a leather pouch stamped with the symbol representing white magic. The words to activate it will come later, when he’s established his perimeter.

Satisfied with himself, Castiel smiles and goes back out into the backyard. This time when he exits the house, he nearly trips over his own feet in surprise.

There are even more cats than before, now. If he had to guess, he would say that more housecats are probably being let out into the world as the morning progresses, meaning more are free to answer the siren’s call of the catnip. It’s only logical, he supposes.

But it’s not the increased number of cats that hold his attention. Not by a long shot.

In the middle of the growing horde of felines, a man is sprawled in the grass. He lounges just as idly as the rest of them, eyes half-lidded and tail flicking lazily through the grass. Strangeness of his presence aside, Castiel must admit that the man is stunning—

Wait. _Tail_?

Castiel blinks and rubs his eyes, and—no. He must have imagined it. There is very clearly _not_ a tail attached to this man, flicking through the grass or otherwise. That would be absurd. He lets out a soft huff of amusement at the notion. He must have seen a tail belonging to one of the myriad of cats all around.

The sound of his laugh must give him away, however, because suddenly the man jerks, sitting up enough to see Castiel staring. At this point he swears and scrambles to his feet, his movements somehow both graceful and extremely uncoordinated.

He’s even more beautiful from this angle, the witch realizes with a jolt. His pupils are unusually dilated, but the irises visible around them are a stunning green that makes Castiel’s breath catch. He’s a bit taller than Castiel himself, his shoulders are broader than he initially would have estimated, and an array of freckles are sprinkled across his face. The combination of features both hard and soft seems unusual, but they make the man devastatingly attractive.

It’s highly distracting.

He also shouldn’t be in Castiel’s yard. He has his perimeter warded for a reason. Or, his perimeter is _supposed_ to be warded for a reason. Now he’s starting to wonder if his perimeter spells have failed, to allow this mortal man to cross them without warning.

But perhaps _mortal_ isn’t completely right. There's an aura around him that Castiel can't quite place. It almost matches those of the cats that he has surrounded himself with—calm and not-quite sober, and also distinctly feline in nature. Castiel drifts a step forward without thought, hoping to get a better read on this man. There’s something about him that the witch is struggling to put his finger on…

“Shit—this is your yard, isn't it?” The man says, holding his hands halfway toward Castiel as though he’s trying to placate him. “I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, I just—” He stops abruptly, eyes catching on the hex bag in Castiel's hand. He stumbles a half step backwards, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "You're not gonna use that thing, are you?”

Castiel looks down at the hex bag in surprise. He had forgotten he was holding it. It's a simple repellent spell, designed to dissuade animals from entering his yard and also urge away any who are currently there. Before Castiel can answer that, _yes_ , of _course_ , he's going to use it, there are _thirty cats in his yard_ , the strange man starts talking again, redrawing Castiel's attention.

"I mean, come on, man," he says, narrowing his eyes. He seems to become both bolder and more cognizant with every second that passes, and as he blinks away his high, his pupils tighten into slits. He continues, oblivious to Castiel's surprise at the change, "You planted _catnip_ here. What did you expect would happen? It's not _these_ guys' fault, you don’t need to be tossing around spells like _they’re_ the problem. And that one?” He jabs a finger in the direction of the hex bag. “That spell is a particularly low blow, you asshole. Do you have any idea how it even affects animals? Do you know how unpleasant it is? Huh?”

“I don’t—”

The man scoffs and waves his hand. “No, you don’t. So do us all a favor, and don’t use that bag. Not unless you want to be the most hated house in a ten-mile radius.” He puts his hands on his hips and purses his lips, then asks, “Why the hell did you even plant this shit, anyway? You obviously don’t like cats.”

“It… repels mosquitoes,” Castiel replies absently. He is much more occupied by the fact that the man in front of him now has ears— _cat_ ears—sprouting from his hair. The fur covering them is nearly the same color as the man’s actual hair, accentuated with darker stripes, not unlike a tiger’s. The ears are swiveled toward him currently, but any thought Castiel had that it may be a trick is dispelled when one of them twitches, as only a real cat ear would.

“And I do like cats,” he corrects, just as absently. He knows he’s staring. He knows his mouth is hanging open, and he must look like a fool, but he can’t help it. He’s never seen such a thing in his life.

And that’s when it clicks.

“You’re a familiar,” Castiel observes aloud, moving even closer as he peers at the man, surprise and confusion morphing into curiosity. That’s what the odd tint to his aura is—the power of a familiar’s support magic. “I’m sorry, I—I’ve only met a few familiars in the past, none of whom were Unbonded. Your trace is not one I’m accustomed to. I should have known sooner.”

He really _should_ have. Castiel may not know much about familiars, but he is aware of the fact that they can often blend some of their animal traits into their human forms. However, if Castiel recalls from his lessons correctly, that feat requires the familiar to both feel at ease, and to have strong magical abilities. It’s easiest when a familiar is Bonded, and their magic is linked with their witch’s.

This Adonis of a familiar may very well have strong magic, but that doesn’t account for his comfort levels in letting his forms blend, nor does it fit the detail of Bonded familiars having it easier. He’s clearly not struggling to merge his physical identities—it almost looks to be happening without his awareness, as he hasn’t acknowledged any of the changes—and yet the only magic he could possibly feed off of that is not his own is Castiel’s.

Castiel, the strange witch he only just met. Castiel, who is certainly not his Bonded.

“How did you get into my yard?”

The man tenses at the question, ears pressing down against his head. “I’m not a threat to you,” growls out defensively. “I’m not Bonded, you can see that. I’m not tied to any other witch, I’m not trying to encroach on your space—”

Oddly enough, that isn’t even one of Castiel’s top concerns at the moment. And it’s not what he asked.

“No, truly,” he interrupts, “how did you get _in_?” He looks the familiar over again like that will somehow give him the answer he desires. “My property is warded against all foreign magic, unless I specifically grant permission. You, quite literally, shouldn’t be here. I’m not angry, merely surprised. Amazed, perhaps.”

That brings the familiar up short. “Warded?” he repeats, brow crinkling in confusion. His eyes flick toward the yard’s side gate, probably having passed through—or over—it on his way in. “I just… came in. You sure your defenses are still up? I mean, I felt—” He cuts himself off with a hard snap of his jaw, then clears his throat. “Um. I don’t know how I got in, sorry. I don’t have an answer for you.”

Castiel frowns, his attention catching on that abandoned sentence in the middle. He tilts his head and prompts, “What is it you felt? It may be relevant.”

“I dunno, your magic is just… nice.” The familiar blushes as he says it, and a striped tail appears from behind him—Castiel _knew_ he saw it earlier—to curl nervously around his leg. “It’s, you know. Soothing. Kinda pulled me in like the catnip did.” His nose wrinkles again—rather adorably, Castiel thinks—and he backtracks quickly, “I'm sorry. That's—that's weird, right? That's weird? Tell you what, I'm just gonna... I'll go. Just do me a favor and take out this catnip, would you?" He turns and starts to make his escape, pausing in his retreat only long enough to scoop a few dazed cats into his arms and carry them with him toward freedom.

“Wait!” Castiel calls, taking a desperate step toward the familiar before he can stop himself. He refrains from touching, at least—there’s no telling what that would do, given the compatibility they’re already showing. And that they _are_ compatible is an inescapable fact. How else would he have been able to breach Castiel’s defenses? Not so much as a warning flag was raised at his crossing over the boundaries, and Castiel knows for a fact his are the strongest in the region. They’ve never once been fooled, or proven faulty.

And yet here this man stands, magic clinging to his very skin. He should have tripped the sensors at the very least, and yet _here he is_. Castiel needs to know _why_.

Or rather, he needs to _confirm_ , why. He suspects he might know the cause.

"Would you—" Castiel stops to clear his throat, feeling a heat rise in his cheeks. He can’t let this man leave, though. Not without his answer, at the very least. "Would you like to come in? I have coffee, if you'd like?"

The man stands stock-still and stares, looking genuinely surprised by the offer. The cats in his arms don’t so much as blink. "Seriously?" he asks, one of his tabby ears flicking. “Why would you invite me in? We don’t even know each other. And I’m strange magic.”

“Maybe not so strange,” Castiel counters, lips automatically twitching up into a smile. “You did make it past my barriers. I think that may be worth investigating, don’t you?” He dares to move closer, fighting with the instinct to extend a hand in official greeting when he says, “As for not knowing one another—my name is Castiel. I practice only white magic, and I primarily focus on nature. I mean no harm to any living thing.” To further this point, he unties his hex bag and dumps out the ingredients, letting them scatter in the yard. He doesn’t break eye contact with the familiar. “See? You are not a threat to me, I am not a threat to you. And I’m sorry, I didn’t know this spell caused discomfort to animals. I’ll be sure not to use it again.”

Slitted green eyes track his every movement, and some of the tension drains from the familiar’s shoulders when the hex bag is fully dismantled. Once it’s done, he looks back up at Castiel, assessing. “I’ve heard of you.” He says it slowly, like he’s piecing together memory fragments to figure out _why_ he’s heard of Castiel. There’s a brief pause, then he continues, “I have a brother—he’s Bonded to a witch in Chicago. You own a magic shop, right? One of those ones that passes for new-age bullshit to mortals, but that the magic community relies on. But your stuff is good. Sam goes on for hours about your shop every time he tags along with Gabe.”

“I own Divine Magic, yes,” Castiel says, nodding. “It’s the only store of its kind in the region, so I would assume that’s the one your brother has spoken of. I’ve never officially met him, but I’m fairly certain I know Gabe, actually. I only know of the one, at any rate. He’s a fairly regular customer.”

It’s not a surprise that Castiel has not met Gabriel’s familiar, and he would hope Dean is acquainted enough with the community to not be surprised, either. Witches are very protective of their familiars; not every witch is compatible with every familiar, but Bonds can still be made forcefully, and familiars can still be stolen. They may not be in the Dark Ages any longer, but that doesn’t mean all witches are good, by any means.

The man is still for another long moment. He stares at Castiel, raking his eyes over the witch’s form and then meeting his eyes with enough intensity to have Castiel wanting to fidget where he stands. He resists, however, because he knows this is important. If the familiar is going to trust him, he needs to earn it.

Finally, he moves. The cats he has been holding get set in the grass, and he pointedly closes the distance between himself and Castiel. After one last sweeping gaze, he holds his hand out to the witch, palm bared and long fingers stretching upward.

“Well, _Castiel_ ,” he says, testing the witch’s name on his tongue, “I’m Dean. Nice to meet you. I assume you want to give this a go?” He wiggles his fingers ever so slightly in invitation.

Castiel’s mouth goes dry. He wants to, of course he does—but he hadn’t expected it so soon. He looks between the outstretched hand and the familiar’s face, eyes wide. “You—Dean. Are you sure? I wasn’t going to insist, I swear. My offer of hospitality is a genuine one, I—”

Dean shrugs. His tabby ears twitch in tandem, giving Castiel a glimpse of his true uncertainty. “Dude, your magic’s kinda making me feel dizzy. Think I know what this means. Yeah, I’m sure.”

Well. Who is Castiel to deny him, then?

The witch swallows down his nerves and lifts his own hand to meet Dean’s. He lets their fingertips touch first—Dean’s are perfectly still, pupils widened into ovals as he watches Castiel’s every move—then skims down so that their palms are only centimeters apart. Even from these barely-there touches, Castiel can feel it, and judging by the way Dean’s breathing has become more rapid, he would say the familiar does, too.

Their magics are perfectly in sync. Two sides of the same coin. Each one yearns for the other, a spark or two leaping between their fingertips, a manifestation of that deep-rooted need to be _connected_.

Dean is the one who closes the distance.

Their palms fit together perfectly, and their fingers twine. Magic flows freely between the opened circuit of witch and familiar, growing stronger with every second that they are allowed to blend. It’s not nearly as strong of a connection as it would be if they were Bonded, but it’s still stunning in its force, and manages to take Castiel’s breath away.

He can’t believe he found his familiar because of his half-assed pissing contest with _Meg_.

Oh _gods_ , he’s never going to live this one down.

Dean is obviously having a similar train of thought, as he makes a strangled sort of sound and groans, “Son of a bitch, I found my witch because of _catnip_. Sammy’s gonna taunt me until the end of time.”

Castiel laughs at that, almost deliriously. It also serves to abruptly remind him of the thirty-odd non-magic cats lying in his yard. He keeps his hand connected to Dean’s and hazards a look around at them. “I, uh. Don’t know what to do about them.”

Dean glances around as well, though he seems much less worried about the abundance of felines than Castiel feels. His tail twists in a way that can only be described as _happy_ , and he twitches his shoulder in another shrug. “Once the catnip is gone and they get over their highs, they’ll go home. If they don’t, I’ll help them along.”

It seems like an easy enough solution, so Castiel nods his agreement. He would remove the plants _now_ , but that would mean separating himself and his magic from Dean, and he doesn’t think he’s ready to do either just yet.

 _Later_ , he tells himself. He’ll do it later. It’s not like the cats are doing any harm as they are, anyway.

Dean must read this in Castiel’s expression. He grins and tightens his fingers around Castiel’s, everything about him radiant. “So, Cas. What was that you said about coffee?”

**Author's Note:**

> Also post on tumblr [here](http://thursdays-fallen-angel.tumblr.com/post/145974359045/nepeta-cataria). (Follow me! I take prompts!)


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